Chapter Text
Being old fucking suck.
The slow breakdown of your body, learning weird shit that happens when your liver suddenly can’t keep up with processing a fucking burger or having some muscle in your back decide to freak out for a week because you coughed while in your own damn bed, minding your own damn business.
What was even more fucking dumb about the whole aging shit, is the more you look into how other people handled aging, the more you realize it’s just people fucking panicking. Denial with fucking mid-life crisis, dye your hair, buy a new car, pretending everything’s fine as your ratio of food to pills slowly switches around until you’re shooting your face up with ass fat because wrinkles scare you in the mirror.
Or they get religious. Or become one of those ‘immortal fanatics’, chasing life extension technology or reading up on how if you harvested stem cells from fucking babies, you’d get a few more years before the cataracts drive you blind.
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…
There is one thing that fucking works. “Living a good life.’ Make lot of memories, lot of friends. Carpe diem and all that shit. Sounds nice.
I wish I had been given the fucking chance.
“Blazer, just pick one so we can fucking go.” I sigh, looking up from the lazy boy chair I’d been dicking around in for the last twenty minutes. “We’re already going to be late and I still need to drive there.”
Furniture stores are fucking weird. All the different options laid out like a fucking warehouse, each coffee table or rug trying to stand out as something you could see in your home but undercut by the fact its literally the seventeenth in a row, not counting the cheaper stuff that’s set in a pile for you to dig through.
Ikea at least fucking tried, showing you complete rooms instead of just putting every single option out and having you do the damn leg work.
Plus, they have those tasty meatballs. With the lingonberry sauce? Damn that’s worth the trip. Even if it now upsets my stomach if I had more than two.
Anyways.
Fucking Blonde Blazer’s pacing in couch aisle twenty feet over, looking at each couch like their potential threats. She’d been stuck there since we came in and still hadn’t come to a decision.
“Okay, okay, I have it down to these two.” Blonde Blazer says, quickly picking up one couch with one hand and shuffling over to set it down to the next one she’s considering.
I watch the feat of strength with a flat expression as others in the store gaze at her with amazement. The heroine herself unaware of the spectacle and attention she’s drawing to herself as she tries to awkwardly press another couch back with her foot to make room for the one she was holding.
That right there was classic Mandy, the thoughtfulness paired with the inattention to the wider scope of things. Every bit of the bright-eyed nervous hero that had joined my hero team years ago. Twitchy after the fucking media disaster that her first freelance hero job had been, but still wanting to push forward, do good. Make a difference.
Fucking glad my debut days were back in the early age of the internet. Fuckers were still ruthless with a young black superhero trying to get on the scene but at least back then a fuck up didn’t get added to your Wikipedia page or onto some hero tracker website. God forbid if you went viral.
“Okay! There’s the f-fau, faux? The fake leather couch, has a pullout mattress inside it, on sale for ten percent off.” Blonde Blazer gestures to the first couch, “Then there’s the ‘Futon Sofa Bed Sleeper Couch’ with a wooden frame. Which has some thicker cushions.”
I get out of the chair and stretch slightly, feeling the way the arthritis and my joints protest the motion.
Fuck you, day’s not done body.
“Did you even test them?” I ask, eyeing both couches. They look like regular fucking couches. Like the two dozen other couches in this damn store.
“I mean, yeah, I sat down on each one, the arm rests are wide enough to rest a cup on if you need to.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Come on. If shit goes well, you’re going to be doing a lot more than just sitting on the damn thing.” I land on the leather one, ignoring my body aches as I shift my weight over the separate cushions. “Gotta know if the shitty thing squeaks." I say, looking up at her.
“That’s-” Blonde Blazer stutters, eyes widening as she quickly checks if anyone’s nearby. “That’s not why I’m bringing him a couch!”
“Well it should be.” I snap back, shifting to one side to feel how the armrest feels against my back.
It’s fucking uncomfortable.
“Robert has concrete fucking floors in that depression box of his and doing it on old oil stains is just asking for a bad time.” I say sitting up and moving to the next couch.
Hmmm…better.
I look up and Blonde Blazer is lightly glaring at me, a slight flush to her face.
“Oh what? You hear worse from Invisbitch on the weekly.” I say, crossing my arms and looking up at her.
“That’s not. Well, you have a point that the floors are pretty bad, but this is for Robert first. Not… if the dating thing works out. That’s going too fast!” Blazer chides me as I stand up and turn to look between the two couches again.
“Get that one,” I grunt. “Better padding all around.”
Blonde Blazer sighs, a quiet undertone of relief as she murmurs her thanks and moves to pick up the couch.
I watch her as she navigates towards the front, waving off the staff who tried to get in her way with assurances of ‘next day deliveries’ and ‘packaging with care’.
The annoying thing was, I knew she was genuine. While Mandy might have enjoyed the odd dirty joke and innuendos, care and concern for people always came first for her.
It was why I lo-
I shake my head and scowl to myself as I follow behind.
“Unless you have a teleporter in the building, there’s no way your delivery trucks going to deliver this couch faster and safer than her,” I grumble, cutting off the cashier whose holding up the fucking line by trying to stick to corporate policy instead of processing the sale.
“You sure I can’t give you a ride?” Blonde Blazer asks as we both make our way out of the store. Gesturing to the couch she has braced over one shoulder. “Would definitely be faster.”
“Nah I get cold too easily.” I say, waving her offer off. “We’re only ten minutes away anyways, I’ll be right behind you.”
“Alright,” Blonde Blazer shrugs and she takes off, hovering a few feet above the ground as she readjusts the couch. “I’ll see you over there.”
I watch her fly away before getting into my car.
…
…
Okay, fucking fine. I had a small thing for Blazer back in the day. Fucking bite me. It never fucking went anywhere.
…
…
It never had a fucking chance to go anywhere…
It might have. When she joined, I hadn’t yet known just how fast my powers were making me age. So, I had some grey and white hair coming in. It made me look fucking distinguished. Looking older than I actually was, but still strong, still in shape. Had the jokes and fucking charisma from clawing out of the shadow that the Brave Brigade had held over me and was ready to move on with my life…
But she was a trainee at the time. The new kid on the block. It wouldn’t have been right for a lot of reasons if I came in as the senior hero, pressuring the new girl for a drink or a date. So, I trained her. Helped her with public speaking, talked through the logistics and shit of being a hero. I was already pretty good at it.
As one of the few non-corporate raised heroes at SDN, I was able to take a lot of what the Brave Brigade had taught me and apply it with ease to the middling assignments that SDN processed. It was a cake walk to climb the local leaderboard, ending up somewhere near the top ten at the Torrance branch and top fifty for the area.
Blonde Blazer was one of the few heroes that took in lessons like a sponge, wanting to genuinely find the best way to help people. It had gotten her noticed. For better and for worse. I hadn’t been aware of Tim Murphy or the office politics at play within SDN at the time, but in the following years, I’d gotten a front row seat to just how slimy and low Tim could sink to secure some kind of political capital for himself.
I’d gone from senior hero to confidant as she got roped into the different schemes and machinations of the company. Press tours that took her and others away from actual hero response, international team-ups where she was barely briefed on the situation and what to do.
I scowl at the car in front of me, the red light from the stoplight illuminating my car, casting everything into red shadows.
Don’t even fucking get me started on the shit with Phenomaman.
Point is, we got…close. Comfortable with each other. I’d been collecting grey hairs, getting a few white ones as well. I’d been thinking of dying the hair but…
Mandy said it looked good.
I’d been thinking about it. Fuck, I’m pretty sure she was thinking about it too. The banter was fun… good. We... worked well together. Were good together. And then…
“Sorry Star,” Wormheart says with a shrug, pocketing her cellphone. “But we signed up to shave some hours off our sentences, not fucking die protecting a strip mall from god damn aliens.”
I stare in shock as she teleports away, vanishing in front of my ey-
The fucking shit show that was the Alien invasion.
You know the saying about how years will pass with barely anything happening and then there’ll be days when all the shit hits at once?
That. That! Was the fucking Alien Invasion and Occupation of 2018. Some fucking space politics that splashed onto our fucking rock and ruining life for everyone. The bullshit SDN politics making every Phoenix Program hero my responsibility. The fuckers dicking off down in San Diego while I fought, bled and did everything I fucking could to save my corner of LA.
Shit had gone sideways, tits up, and every other way to word a fuckup that exists in the human language.
And I… came out of it an old fucking man. Jumping from biologically thirty-five to somewhere in my seventies.
The problem was when I got fucking hurt. Fights and chases would take minutes at a time, manageable. But when I broke a bone? Fractured a rib? The only thing to do was to use my speed to heal it up. Accelerated healing; accelerated aging.
I was done. And I felt it. Am still feeling it. The way my joints fucking hurt. Breathing feels harder. And the way people look at me. See me. When you age, you’re supposed to do it together. Collecting wrinkles, grey hairs. Build experiences together. So, you all feel your fucking age.
I don’t feel seventy. I feel like I’m thirty-nine, trapped in a body that’s dying on me, surrounded by people who don’t know what’s waiting for them in twenty to thirty years. And the way people look at me now.
Mandy’s amazing. A good hero. A good person. She took all the fucking office games and fucking played the game. Pushing herself to Branch Manager, trying to take responsibility for the fucking talent sinkhole after Tim fucked off to downtown.
…
…
She deserves someone better than an old guy who’ll probably keel over because he fucking tripped over nothing in his living room. She has the rest of her actual fucking career and life to experience. She didn't need to deal with this.
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…
Besides I’m no fucking rescue. Just because I got sad grumpy cat energy, according to Polarity at least, doesn’t mean I’m looking for someone to fucking indulge me.
A car honks in alarm as I nearly miss my turn, cutting across both lanes to rocket off the main road.
I sigh, an audible groan to release the pain and tension in my body as I try to calm down.
If Mandy sees my car from above she is going to ask questions. And tonight’s not supposed to be about me it’s supposed to be about-
Robert.
I feel my hands relax on the wheel as I pull off into a street spot and push down the rush of… relief to have the kid back in my life.
You get attached as a Babysitter. When Robbie benched me from night action with the Brave Brigade, I thought it had been punishment, a sign that he and Vitality and Monarch didn’t think I was ready for the larger operations.
Boy was I fucking wrong. It was clear that Robert was a sharp kid, getting into trouble way beyond his years. Man, the fucking stories I could tell about when he first got into hacking some of the local computer systems back in the day. Feels like every other week I’d be sent out to do some damn detective work or bring in the guys that Robert had identified as the criminals of the most recent carjacking because the kid had manually scrubbed through hours of security camera footage, tracing them through the city.
Kid was a menace with a computer and he still is now. Then a year into the babysitting gig when Robert turned ten, that’s when Robbie took me aside and explained why he had been benching me.
Robert would be the next Mecha Man. And given that I was the youngest member of the Brave Brigade, he saw us as the future leaders of the group. The next generation of the Brave Brigade. The next few years would see Robert and I working together in the field while the team started to prep us for our future leadership roles. Public speaking, tactical planning, how to lead and train up others.
That plan sure went down in flames fucking fast.
I take a moment, playing up my body's age as I get out of the car, trying to get my emotions under control. It was hard not to stew over things, to be bitter at the past, at the people in my life. The ‘what could have been’s.
Some days it seemed like only a thin thread of control stopped me from spewing out anger and vitriol at the world, damn whoever's in front of me at the time.
“Hey, ready for the party?” Mandy asks with a smile, adjusting the futon on her shoulder, sticking out her leg to hold the door open as we both enter the apartment.
“Ready for the chaos more like,” I grunt, following the signs to the stairwell. “It’ll be a miracle if we finish the night without something being broken or someone throwing a punch.”
“Come on, you got Robert, Royd, you, and me tonight.” Mandy says dismissively. “You really think any of them are going to want to cause trouble tonight?”
I grunt and shake my head, letting the matter drop.
For Mandy, Robert’s solved the ‘Z-team problem’ that had been dragging down Torrance for the past several months. A perfect solution.
“I fell and tripped on a chair,” Robert lies, sprawled out in the office chair, his chest still heaving, his neck bright red, sweat on his brow.
Next to him Prism outright gaping at Robert, visorless eyes conveying her shock at his words.
Some fucking solution.
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…
But maybe now… with Robert hanging up Mecha Man, he’d be willing to listen a bit more. If Robert wanted to stay on with SDN and continuing dispatching, he couldn’t keep getting hurt in the name of someone else’s “progress”.
And with Mecha Man ‘retired’, the danger of his secret identity getting out dropped way off. Who the fuck cares about the has-beens?
Honestly, I was fucking shocked that Robert wanted to throw a party, but what the fuck do I know? When I retired Track Star I went on my own little bender.
…
…
And to be honest, I’ve grown fond of the fucking tattoo, even if it’s covered most of the time.
We get up to Robert’s floor and the sound of music and voices echo down the hall.
“Chase… it’ll be fine.” Mandy says, pausing outside the door and glancing down at me. I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Robert’s done a lot of good work with the team. They’re almost unrecognizable from a few months ago!”
She looks at me earnestly and I huff, breaking our impromptu stare off. She always had a pretty good sense of what was on my mind.
“Yeah, yeah. The shitheads did good this week, and they're getting better by the day.” I admit before pointing up at her. “But they’re still shitheads! They still got a long way to go before I’m doing shots with them at Cryptos.”
“How about pizza and beers? In a sad man’s apartment.” Mandy asks with a grin.
I roll my eyes, fighting off the smile that tries to crawl onto my wrinkly face.
“Maybe, depends on if Beef and I can break in the futon. Robert’s floors are too damn hard for my bony ass.” I say, putting my hands on the end of the couch. “Now hurry up. I feel like I’m carrying most of this thing. Are you even lifting?”
“I don’t know how I got it up here without you,” Mandy says sarcastically, a smile on her face as she opens the door to the apartment.
Music blares out, undercutting the overlapping voices and warm light shining in the doorway.
I walk in behind Mandy, quickly pulling off as she carries the couch into the small studio apartment, the many bodies already in the tiny space quickly shifting and moving to make way.
“Oh Sweet, my ass was getting numb on these old stools.” Sonar calls out as he quickly hops off the stool, joining the growing group who ‘assisting’ in deciding where Mandy should place the futon.
I put my hands on my hips and sigh, shaking my head slightly.
“Welcome to the party,”
I blink and stare at surprise at the glass Robert hands to me, the amber liquid sloshing slightly.
Whiskey.
We clink glasses and I take a sip.
…
…
Damn. The high-quality kind.
“Damn, we should pregame at your place more often,” I saw, looking up from the glass and shooting Robert a grin. It’s hard not to. Each Monday, I have to stop myself from staring and thanking every fucking star in the sky that the kid was back in my life.
Robert gives a small half smile back and offers his glass.
“Cheers.”
There’d been some dicey moments. Some disagreements and conversations that got away from us. That kind of shit happened, but so far, we’d always come back together to talk it out. Both of us slotting back into each other's lives easily, despite the work environment and fifteen years we had spent apart.
Going out for drinks, food, and shooting the shit at lunch. It was good. Great. Fucking dream come true. Every fucking day, seeing and talking to this adult Robert. A hero, Robert. All that good and fucking earnestness that he had when he was a kid poured out to the people of Los Angeles, his own backlog of stories and scares from fighting villains. His wit is even fucking sharper and funnier, his preteen awkwardness and hesitance traded out for experience, confidence, and comfort.
…
…
I hoard each new memory, each new interaction greedily. Each miles better than-
“Kid I’m sorry,” I call out, my voice raw as I try to get up from the hospital bed to chase after Robert. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t fast enough! There wasn’t anything I could do! Come back!”
Then the last time we left off.
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…
“Why are there so many lamps?” I ask, glancing around the apartment. Taking another sip. Damn, this was really good whiskey! “Did I miss some fucking memo?”
Robert chuckles and looks around the room, a fond expression on his face. “Visi told them all to bring a housewarming gift, ‘a lamp or some shit’,” Robert says, gesturing to the room.
I twitch at the nickname but let it go.
“And the fuckers all just decided to grab you fucking lamps because they have one braincell between the eight of them.” I groan, shaking my head again. “But why the fucking projector and… is that your work set up?” I squint at the massive, bulky electronic sitting on the edge of the counter.
“Oh, Royd and Visi have this- this idea,” Robert says, “About using energy readings to find the Astral Pulse, cross-reference it with the team's experience with the different gangs and crooks of LA.”
Visi again.
“Uh-huh,” I say slowly. That was… a lot. Going from hanging up Mecha Man to locating the original Astral Pulse in…what, six hours of consciousness? “And how are you doing with that?” I ask slowly, watching his reaction carefully.
Robert takes another sip of whiskey, looking up at the ceiling, “I mean it’s kinda cool. Surprised everyone's trying to help.” Robert takes another sip. “I didn’t think they’d really care to be honest. Flambae even tried to kill me when he found out.” he admits.
I stare at him. …putting aside the apparent admission that something had gone down with him with Flambae, Robert would know not to share that with me, not after the blowout over what I’m still half sure was Prism beating on Robert in the conference room.
Hell, he knew I was still cold on the whole ‘spilling your secret identity to your team of ex-cons to make them like you’ stunt.
Robert swirls the whiskey in his glass again before taking another sip, a deeper one.
I glance behind him at the kitchenette counter, at the one whiskey bottle.
…
…
It’s almost half empty.
“Robert, are you drunk?” I ask in a low voice. Keeping my expression light as I move towards him.
Mandy’s talking with Malevola as Punch-Up and Sonar test out of the futon.
“I mean, before I knew everyone was coming tonight, I had planned to get completely shit faced,” Robert admits casually. “Lay on the floor and not move for hours. Real ego death night, you know?”
“Yeah, a real dark night of soul you were pre-gaming for.” I say distracted, “But Robert, if you didn’t want this party, we can-”
“Chase, it’s fine,” Robert interrupts, raising a hand to forestall anything else I had to say. “Besides, if Visi and Royd’s right, I was just giving myself a hangover for nothing.” He gives a smile that’s…off somehow. It’s not necessarily fake, but there’s just something…wrong about it.
That’s three.
“It’s fine.” he repeated again.
I examine that stubborn glint in his eye and consider it. The pros and cons of trying to be the rational adult and shut down a party because of a problem Roberts refuses to admit.
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…
I relent. “Alright,” I sigh. “But you’re on fucking pizza and water for the rest of the night. Blazer flew that futon here just for you. I’m not having you fucking vomit on it on night one.”
Robert could be as stubborn as his old man when he decided to take a stand on something. And while you could eventually get him to backtrack or back down, it’d be as hard as pulling a hammered nail out of some hardwood with your fingers. Taking forever and getting some fucking splinters for your trouble.
Add in half a bottle of whiskey and a peanut gallery of most of your work colleagues and it was a recipe for a shit show.
“You’re not my babysitter anymore, Chase,” Robert says lightly, finishing his glass. “But pizza is a good idea. Want some? I haven't had any yet.”
“Long as there’s no olives,” I call after him as he walks into his small ass kitchen, side stepping Waterboy to open the pizza box. Quickly moving to the futon as the Z-Team migrates away, following Mandy, each of them pointing and gesturing to one of the half dozen lamps strewn around the apartment.
“What a fucking mess,” I grumble into my glass as I down the rest of my drink and set it on the armrest before glancing at the map of Los Angeles projected onto the wall.
So, to recap. It’s the start of the fucking night. Robert’s half a bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach, had his pity party interrupted and now has fucking everyone in his life in his small, cramped studio apartment. And probably has the most fucked up emotional whiplash from going from hanging up his super hero cape to everyone trying to find it because everyone on the Z-team was a fucking criminal.
“Good…good, wow Royd! It's… incredible!”
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…
Except Waterboy.
“Royd! That’s amazing!”
I watch with the rest of the room as Mandy picks up and swings Royd around in a tight circle before setting him down and putting a hand on Robert’s shoulder, interrupting his and Invisgal’s conversation, the tall blonde almost vibrating in happiness at the news.
Malevola and Sonar are fucking watching and elbowing each other, Prism sneaks a picture on her phone Punch-Up shoots Waterboy a thumbs up and I huff quietly. Fucking Z-Team.
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Z-Team. The latest batch of Phoenix Program fuck ups. Robert had done well with them. Putting the training and exercises his old man put us through to good work, keeping them on task, ensuring a steady and consistent rise in their satisfaction rating, their assignment scores, and a substantial drop in the property damage invoices that came our way.
They were walking the walk… and that was the fucking problem. They’d yet to actually talk the fucking talk. Even now, they weren’t happy to help Robert, this was fucking ego stroking. Basking in the fact that Robert and Mandy made them feel important. That the fact that they were criminals was a good thing for one in their fucking lives.
If they needed Robert to hold their fucking hand and pat their head and tell them that they were doing good instead of actually fucking showing some awareness of the impact of their actions, then they weren’t fucking heroes.
Like Wormheart or fucking Shroud. Fuckers with powers and a damn ego were dangerous. Only playing along as long as nothing fucking challenged them or gave them a hard time. If one fucking bad day is enough to send you off the path of trying to fucking help people then you don’t deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as people like Mandy or Robert.
But not you. You’re not a fucking hero anymore. You’re old. Weak. You can’t do shi-
I didn’t fucking betray my principles, betray my friends, betray my community because life got fucking hard. I fought for my city. I bled for it. I went out every day to try and make the world a little bit safer so the people I love didn’t have to put themselves in harm's way and I… I…
I’m…. tired.
I exhale explosively, slumping a little into the futon as the party continues to rotate around the room. The loud music and overlapping conversations creating a low buzz that drowned out specific words. The Z-Team glancing my way briefly before quickly moving on. Turning to the person next to them or wandering over to the kitchen counter to grab another drink or slice of pizza.
Makes sense. Fuckers hate me. I’m that old Dispatch fucker Blazer would assign them while they had fun breaking their latest toy. Any of the half dozen ex-dispatchers who’d given up on them. I refused right away. And they heard it every time Blazer had to pull me aside and tell me I had to run double teams with them and my own heroes.
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…
“Robert said you wanted ‘zza, yeah?” a voice interrupts my brooding. “I got you two slices.”
“Thanks Royd,” I grunt out, taking the plate from the massive man as he squats onto the futon next to me, the wood frame groaning slightly at his added weight. “At least there’s some decent company here.”
Royd laughs before wincing slightly, adjusting the sling that was supporting his right arm.
I raise an eyebrow. “You sure you should be here with that arm and not resting up at home?”
“Ah its fine brother,” he waves off my concern, leaning back and stretching. “My super healing is super slow. Just going to take its time is all.” He perks up, glancing at the projected map of the LA basin on the wall. “Besides, someone needs to run the searches for the Astral Pulse.”
“Yeah, how’d that fucking happen?” I ask, glancing at the map dismissively, “Earlier today, you were pretty sure there was nothing to do, game over and all that shit.”
“It was all Visi! She called me, had the idea that, if my proto pulse was close enough to the Astral Pulse, they’d share the same energy readings. Giving us a signal to track.”
I grunt, mulling over the idea. “And you couldn’t just start scanning CCTV footage or fly a drone over the city or some shit?” I gesture to the room at large. “We really need all these clowns to help us track it down?”
“LA’s a big fucking city.” Royd says lightly, grinning as Punch-Up stands on a stool to get eye level with Malevola, gesturing wildly at the city map. “Besides, with them, we search smarter, not harder. They know the current villain layout in the underground. Last trace ends up being some lab or warehouse? They’ll tell whose turf it belongs to.”
“Because they were fucking working it themselves just a couple of months ago,” I say biting into my pizza viciously. Royd eyes me.
“That was then and this is now.” Royd says slowly, “Besides, Z-Teams been stellar since Robert joined SDN. Turning into real heroes now.”
“Come off it, their parole pleasers, that’s all.” I say, waving my slice at the room. “I wouldn’t put it past half of them to try to fence the Astral Pulse even if we did find it.”
Royd’s silent as I start on my second slice of pizza. I watch, frowning as Robert’s gesturing wildly to Golem about something. The massive construct taking up a corner of the room. Invisibitch walking between them, showing something on her phone that causes them both to hunch over.
Robert’s laugh echoes from across the room.
“Is that all you see the Phoenix Program as?” Royd asks quietly. “Like no one wants to turn their life around?"
I tear my gaze away, my eyes widening at his words. “Shit man, that’s not what I mean.” I say quickly. “It’s just… you know. It’s them! They’re not doing this job for the right reasons! They don’t actually care about the city or doing right by people.” I try to explain. “They’re not like you! You’re-”
“One of the good ones?” Royd asks, a rueful smile on his face as I choke on my words. “Nah brother, you and I have heard that too many times for that to be true.”
I open my mouth to apologize only for him to wave me off with a massive hand, turning away from me to look out at the room.
“What I see… are people who care.” He says quietly, watching as Waterboy and Malevola lean over to look at whatever Invisi…gal is showing Golem and Robert. “Some care mostly about themselves, some care about maybe a few other people. And some a whole lot about everyone.”
Robert reaches for a beer bottle, one of the many on the counter and Malevola uses her tail to slide a red solo-cup into his hand instead. Next to her, Sonar’s pouring water out of the water pitcher into three more solo-cups, handing them out to the others.
“And so long as they save the day, does it matter who they're thinking of when they do it?” Royd asks me, turning back, his eyes full of fucking understanding.
I glare at the group. Glare at the fucking team that Robert’s built up. I hate it. I hate them. I hate every fucking thing about it.
It should be me standing there beside him.
Being old fucking sucks.
…
…
It means you have to be the mature, responsible one. And taking damn ownership of your own feelings.
“I guess fucking not.” I sigh, pulling myself off the futon and surveying the room.
Alright. Robert claimed he had a fucking good time with the Z-Team on Friday.
I walk up to Prism whose talking with Mandy out on the balcony.
Time to put that to the fucking test.
“Okay,” I say, downing the last of my whiskey. “What the fuck is Tick Tick?”
Prism’s eyebrows climb up and over her visor.
Mandy chuckles.
Robert and Royd were crazy. There was no way these fucking sideways pricks had anything close to hero inside them.
“And then, because they got in now, it’ll continue to grow in value! And then they can either cash it out, switch to a stable coin, or sell off a fraction at a time! Enjoy the revenue!” Sonar explains excitedly.
“Uh-huh,” I grunt, crossing my arms. “And where’s the fucking security? Protections? Who's going to ‘advise’ them on how and when to withdraw their so-called investments?”
“Me, of course! Only with my wisdom can they reach the next level! Imagine it, Chase! A whole conglomerate of Mole People! Able to pump and dump with the best of them!” Sonar insists, gesturing wildly with his beer bottle.
“I don’t know Chase,” Mandy says, an amused glint entering her eye. I glance at her warily. “I think it’s noble that Sonar wants to retire from heroics and become the main financial planner for a community.” She nods sagely. “There’s not a lot of money in it, but it’s a really important role. Especially when Tax season comes around.”
Sonar balks at that.
“What! N-no! That’s not what I’m saying! I want to be a hero! Fight crime! Steal criminals' drugs!”
“But you said it yourself,” I point out, adopting a false grin as I toast to the massive man bat. “You’re going to show them the way. And working on an integration project takes at least ten years.”
Sonar looks horrified.
“Maybe up to thirty,” Mandy adds brightly.
His big bat ears shift back and forth at each of us before he turns around. “Mal! Tell- tell them I don’t have to quit SDN to manage the mole people’s finances! There aren’t enough returns there!”
“Good on you Mate,” Malevola says offhandedly, taking another bite of pizza. “We always knew this city wouldn’t accept a bat man superhero. Getting out while you’re ahead. Smart.”
“Mal!” Sonar whines, and Mandy and I exchange amused glances as we both take a sip of our drinks.
“Bagholder,” I snicker into my solo cup, enjoying the burn of the whiskey.
Why was it always fucking Harvard grad tech idiots who acted like they were the only ones who had read and paid attention to the news?
“Problem is your center of gravity. You keep throwing yourself out there, overextending. It’s bad form.” Punch-Up says Waterboy, demonstrating slowly as he extends his fist in front of him.
“I-I try!” Waterboy insists, trying to copy the man and nearly lunging forward, knocking my drink from my hand.
I hum in thought, watching the boy. Because it’s really fucking hard to see him as anything else other than a boy.
“You just water powered or full water affinity?
Waterboy stares at me, Punch-Up raising an eyebrow and watching me the same way I watch them whenever any of the Z-team walk into the offices at work.
“What’s the difference?” Punch-Up grunts, crossing his arms.
“Base powers won’t mess with your personality, mostly just physical augments. Affinity is more cerebral, gets in your head.” I say, tapping my temple. “Shit like fire folk literally blowing their lid when they lose their temper or people whose powers are centered around concepts and intangible ideas.”
It wasn’t an exact science, but with the number of powered individuals, trends had been noticed. As a speedster, I was generally low on patience. I made decisions fast, some called it hastily, and I didn’t think too much of the actual distance between places when I was still running in spandex. Whether it was affinity or just a personality shaped by the convenience my power offered me was a toss-up, but it was something I had to unlearn when I retired.
“If it's affinity instead of just a power, then it might be against the kid's nature to stand still, to not move with momentum,” I say, eying him prospectively. “Do you know how you got your powers?”
Punch-Up’s glare shifts to something more thoughtful as he eyes Waterboy.
Waterboy shifts under the attention. “Just… one day… started… water.” He shrugs, causing water to bead off his shoulders and pool onto the floor. “Lots… of water.” He sighs.
I grunt. “Sounds like it could be an affinity. In which case, you’re going to want to shift your fighting style to something more fluid, staying in motion and using momentum.” I eye his long, lanky limbs. “Maybe some styles of kung fu or karate.”
“What else does water affinity mean?” Waterboy asks excitedly, before cringing back at his own words. “Uhm, Chase…sir.”
I scratch my cheek, pulling up old conversations with Monarch and some other heroes when I had been a part of the Brave Brigade.
“Affinity is less science and physics and more magic and reality shit,” I say, trying to piece together what I remember. “There’s probably no good scientific reason why your water comes from where it does; it just happens. Has its own ruleset.”
Separate rules was understating it. Depending on the affinity, an individual could stretch their capabilities, recontextualize their powers and use them in new and inventive ways in a crisis. Powers granted through mantles and Gods were a great example of it. Mandy’s Blazer amulet had given its last three wielders vastly different powersets, all centered around an affinity for…’Blaze’? ‘Blazing’? Light? Fire? I don’t fucking know. And at least at the start, neither did Mandy.
“Gotta play with it, see what’s a hard rule and what’s up for negotiation,” I eventually say, “Could be you can shoot water from your eyes instead of your mouth or turn into water yourself.”
“The lad's magic?” Punch-Up asks with surprise.
I shrug. “Maybe? Shit’s complicated. If he knew how he got his powers, he could maybe learn more. See if someone knows something.”
Being a Speedster was much simpler than any of that messy shit.
Waterboy’s eyes are large and round, hanging off my every word.
…
…
It’s creepy.
“Am I blowing your fucking mind or something?” I bark. “Listen, just start asking questions and trying shit. That’s how you figure shit out.”
I turn and move to the futon, leaving the fucking kid looking at me like…like I’m some…some kind of…
Hero.
Baby Kaiju.
“And now, the Doc says we can move on to letters and words.” Golem grumbles as I continue to stare a hole into the side of Robert’s head.
I thought they were joking. Baby Kaiju.
Robert, now significantly more sober than when I first arrived, continues to ignore me, listening to Golem with a smile.
“That’s great, Golem, really excited to hear what happens next with Daisy,” Robert says earnestly, and I raise another eyebrow.
Baby. Fucking. Kai-
“Careful, old man, if you’re not careful, your face is going to stick like that.” A voice says behind me and I twitch, my frown deepening as I glance at…Invisigal who has come up behind me, two bottles in hand.
“Careful, old man,” Wormheart says with a grin, tossing me a can of soda, “Gotta stay hydrated!”
“Here,” she says, handing the beer to Robert. “Gotta stay hydrated.”
“Because that’s what beer helps with,” Robert says flatly, his eyes dancing with amusement as he takes a sip. “Hydration.”
My frown shifts into a small scowl. Putting aside the fact that everyone else had been firmly on board with the ‘let’s keep Robert coherent and sober’ plan….
Baby. Kaiju.
“So!” I say, crossing my arms and turning away from Robert and Invisigal to face Golem head-on. “What the fuck are you going to do when Daisy hits her full size?”
The towering construct blinks down at me, orange eyes wide. “Dunno,” He admits. “Not even sure how big her full size will even be.”
“Don’t kno- Well, you better start thinking of one!” I say, exasperated. “Port of LA is one of the biggest ports for international trade. If you don’t have a plan and it goes rampaging and takes a bite of a cargo ship?” I point at him. “A lot of fucking people are going to make a plan for you.”
“Chase, it’s fine,” Robert says, stepping between us. “Dr. Kent’s got a plan. She’s tracking how big Daisy gets, and I’m sure will have relocation options for Daisy and Golem to choose from.”
I feel some of my aggression and anger slip away. I hadn’t realized Dr. Kent was involved. That woman was probably the best authority and most competent marine biologist to turn to. She has the knowledge and clout to handle the situation.
“Yeah, Chase,” Invisigal says, sipping her beer. “Calm your tits.”
…
…
Robert sighs. “Not helping Visi.”
“My tits are fucking calm.” I snap at Invisibitch before turning to glare up at Golem. “Make sure ‘Daisy' doesn’t fucking eat anybody.” I shift my glare at Robert.
Robert glares back at me, warily, his posture…tired.
…
…
I snatch his beer bottle from him and turn to leave.
“Drink some fucking water.”
I sit down on the couch with a sigh, feeling the adrenaline and anger draining out of my system. Leaving me just…tired. Sore and tired.
That was always the fucking default state, wasn’t it? Wake up, feel tired. Try going for a walk, feel tired. Go to work, feel tired. Go out with friends, feel tired. Every single fucking part of feeling old, just feeling tired of fucking life.
I close my eyes and rub my forehead, trying to iron out the growing headache behind my wrinkly forehead.
…
…
I’m tired of feeling old.
“Hey, you okay?” Robert asks, taking a seat next to me. I suppress another sigh.
This night was to comfort him, not get wrapped up in my bullshit.
“Fine,” I grunt, dropping my hand and patting the cushion beneath me. “Just testing out the couch that Blazer picked out.”
“Yeah,” Robert says, eyes going distant as he drops his own hand to feel the fabric. A stupid, small smile comes over his face. “It feels good.”
“She kept me in there for almost a whole hour,” I say casually, rearranging slightly so I was angled towards Robert. “The place had only twenty couches!”
“That’s…” Robert’s face twists, a mixed expression of touched, shocked, and slightly discomfort at the idea of someone giving a fucking damn about him. “That’s… sweet.”
I don’t respond, looking out at the party. With Robert and I taking the couch, the party’s dynamic has shifted again. Punch-Up now in some deep discussion with Golem and Invisibitch while Prism, Malevola and Waterboy continued to speak. Sonar, Royd and Mandy over in the kitchen.
Invisibitch aside… They were an okay group. No rougher than some of the vigilantes I used to run with. I saw the potential that Robert kept insisting they had.
…
…
I take a sip of the beer and continue to watch quietly.
“Of course, I might need to move it if I get the suit back in here,” Robert says, and I blink at him, temporarily forgetting what we had just talked about. “Gotta store it on this side of the wall so it’s not visible from the patio.
“I… Are you really just going to bring it back here if we find the astral pulse?” I ask, more shock than hurt in my voice.
I know I had worked hard to ensure Robert didn’t get trapped with SDN the same way I did…but to hear him so bluntly say it. As though this time next week, he’d go back to living in a box, leaving SDN and everyone behind so quickly.
…
…
…Did he really find it that easy?
“I…” Robert begins to chuckle, mirth absent from his tone. “I don’t even fucking know anymore.” Robert says a ghost of a smile on his face. “I mean, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
Robert holds out his solo cup, gesturing with each sentence. “Go out to fight my father’s killer, get fucking ambushed like a chump. Four months in a coma, two months trying to rebuild the pulse.” His expression grows tight. “Watching all that work explode in our damn faces, thinking it’s all over…that there’s no going back…and then! And then! After all that time, we’re back, maybe hours away from finding it.” Robert slumps on the couch, looking into his cup. “I don’t think I’m in any state to think of the future until this week just… decides what kind of week it’s going to be.”
The cold shock that had washed over me wears off, and I nod, looking at my own drink. “Yeah… I get that.” I say quietly.
He wasn’t actually thinking of doing it. He was just…grasping. Entertaining any option because at least options were things you could choose. Something you could have control over.
The first month after the alien invasion had been a hellish limbo. A fever dream of talking to specialists, other heroes, diving through archives. Chasing down any lead or trick or tech that would reverse what had happened to my body. Regeneration pods, backup memory banks in clones, time travel. All the ‘solutions’ that didn’t address the core problems or had worse drawbacks and side effects than being old. Those were choices too. Choices I had refused to take, but damn if I didn’t entertain them. Imagine what my life would have been if I had tried every single solution. Everything from deals with devils to moving to other dimensions where time moved so slowly, it wouldn’t matter if I kept using my powers.
“There’s enough time to figure out next steps,” I say simply. “Nothing needs to be decided now.”
We sit there quietly, with the threat of the future looming over us. Quite literally in my case. I glance over my shoulder and up at the map projected on the wall. Royd’s search algorithm is currently scanning through dozens of CCTV feeds in the south side of Torrance.
Surprisingly, the Z-Team’s information had helped. Hearing them all talk about the underground’s alliances, who was willing to trade with each other and what villains were competing with each other. It helped narrow the search and rule out options.
The last known holders of the astral pulse were a pair of villains who were known to salvage and steal in the wake of larger villain schemes. At least a month ago, they had a racket where they’d sell the Astral Pulse to someone, wait for them to blow themselves up, then steal it back and sell it to the next wannabe mad scientist.
The two had gotten picked up two weeks back, so Royd was now backtracking their steps, investigating where they went between their last sale and when they were arrested.
We still weren’t close per say to identifying its location, but now it was looking more like a matter of time rather than a long shot.
I glance over at Robert, who’s watching the wall as well. Eye’s slightly unfocused, a pensive expression on his face.
…
…
I didn’t want to lose him again.
“Pretty amazing, right?” Mandy asks, a beer and red solo-cup in hand as she walks up to us, a grin on her face. “Going to have to recommend Royd for employee of the month after tonight.”
She hands me the red solo-cup and I watch with amusement as Robert hops up to address her. They worked well together. Between Robert’s seasoned experience and brain for logistics, paired with Mandy’s good nature and willingness to try the unconventional. If Robert did stick around, I could see him and Blonde Blazer becoming quite the team up.
I sniff the cup before taking a sip.
Water.
“Yeah, I’m not exactly sure what exactly I can do to pay it back,” Robert says, scratching the back of his head.
“I’d say you already paid for it, with fifteen damn years of saving this city and everyone in it,” I grunt, taking a deeper sip of my cup.
“Chase is right, Robert,” Mandy says, nodding with a smile. She rests her arm on his should and he stills, meeting her gaze. “You’ve done so much already, this is just… karma… coming back around.”
“I mean, yeah but the average person probably owes like twenty to fifty different people their lives. Just because-”
~I wake up exhausted, even in the morning~
“Oh, no way!” Mandy exclaims, taking a step back, quickly setting down her beer bottle. “I love this song! No one plays this!”
Robert and I watch with amusement as she twirls for a moment, enjoying the music. This… fuck it. This is what I love about her. She was earnest. Honest. Painfully so at times, in ways that seemed to challenge any negative thought or the ‘realities’ of heroics that made me feel so old and tired. She didn’t ignore it, but she also didn’t let it get in the way of…simply enjoying life.
Mandy spins out, pausing as she fixes me with a mischievous look.
“Come one Chase, I remember the SDN holiday parties. Break out some moves.”
“Chase has moves?” Robert asks, amused as Mandy pulls me off the futon. Ignoring my protesting hands. I smile as I stand, Mandy immediately doing a little side shimmy. Behind her, the Z-team turning to observe the motion. Ready to either watch the heroes make a fool of themselves or to join in if they decide it's not too ‘cringe’ to dance to this song.
Fucking edgy teenagers, the lot of them.
…
…
Fine. Time to see if the Z-team could keep up with an ‘old timer’ like me.
“Of course I do motherfucker,” I grunt at him, shooting him a wink.
Prism pokes her head in from the balcony in time to watch me kick my legs out and begin to actually dance. Ignoring my arthritis and bad hip in favor of showing these white kids how to actually dance.
“Damn, Chase! Okay!”